Lydia is a punk
by vainintrain
Summary: Sirius Black, digusted by his blood purity crazed family, meets a spontaneous punk muggle girl. Yes, the title is inspired by the song Judy is a Punk by the Ramones!
1. The fire

**Note:**This is my first fanfic ever, I hope it's not too bad. Since English is not my first language and since I am extremely tired, there might be some mistakes.

And I don't own the wonderful world of Harry Potter and its inhabitants, but that you already know!

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The girl was seated alone at a table, drinking coffee. She ought not to be older than eighteen, her jet black shaggy hair framing her heart shaped face and her feathered bang dripping in her thick black runny eye makeup. The juke box was playing a disco tune whilst the waitress was mopping the floor. The door opened and a young man entered. His long black hair, that echoed the girl's, though hers were shorter, were dripping wet from the rain outside as well as his t-shirt emblazoned with a golden bird. He shook his shaggy head like a dog, thousand of drops of rain scattering around him, and strode past the room to sit at a table next to the girl's, facing her diagonally. She took a pocket mirror out of her leather jacket and put some flaming red lipstick back on, wiping in the same movement a black mark off her face. She had been under the rain too. Then she said, over-enthusiastic:

'Hey!'

He looked at her and gave her an insolent smile. She put back her fingerless leopard skin gloves and brought a cigarette to her mouth.

'Have you got fire?' She had a strong scouse accent.

'Fire?' His grin was now huge and Sirius thought about his wand and how easily he could have dried himself and lit that stick of hers.

'Matches or a lighter, whatever'

'See you can rhyme without forcing yourself. Don't they have any?' He was pointing two girls who were walking toward her table. Both looked dozy. One of them, with a green Mohawk, leaned on the girl's table and grinned at Sirius.

'I'm Marcelline, here's Dinah,' she said as she pointed the other girl, with long bushy peroxided hair, 'and here's Lydia.' Then she turned at Lydia, the girl with shaggy black hair and said: 'Don't you have fire? And can you hand me a cigarette, I had to rip the rolling papers off mine.'

'No, I haven't got fire,' answered Lydia, who looked at Sirius. 'What's your name anyway?' She asked.

'Mommy didn't tell you not to talk to strangers?' Bloody hell, he needed a coffee or he wouldn't be able to go and pick James up. Moreover it would soon be 10 and he had to hurry to be in time. Thus he stood up to order as the three girls stared at him. However, he was not that eager to leave: he loved muggle girls.

He could hear the sound of thick heels striding towards him. Sirius turned around as Lydia put her hand on his shoulder. He noticed that she was wearing shiny black boots with heavy high heels that could have knocked him out if she had hit him in the head. He had also noticed that she was wearing a black leotard with a suspender belt. Fishnet stockings and a spiked choker necklace completed one of the wonderful inventions of the muggle world: punk girls.

'Hey ''Mommy didn't tell you not to talk to strangers?'', is the motorcycle parked in front yours?'

'Yeah, why?'

'The girls have bet that I wouldn't be able to ask you if you could take me for a ride. Thus, would you take me for a ride?' She answered.

She was smiling broadly. Sirius had rarely seen Muggles with teeth as perfect as hers. Cigarette had not yet stained her teeth that were as white as perfectly aligned. Nice teeth and polished language didn't lie; carefully hidden behind her loose appearance was the spectre of a posh upbringing. A sardonic smile crossed his face; how could he resist to a shaggy haired girl wearing a leather jacket, boots and minimalistic clothing? But James was more important than this. Mates came before chicks, this was a rule of thumb. He swallowed his whole coffee in three gulps before answering:

'Tomorrow, nine p.m, same place'

'Hey! You're not taking me tonight?'

'I can't, the world needs me'

'Okay, see you tomorrow then. By the way, what's your name?'

'Sirius,' he said as he left.

And he was gone. Lydia asked Marcelline and Dinah who were looking astonished by the course of events:

'Why did he ask me if I was serious?'


	2. The wind

**Note:** Sorry if it took me a long while to update, I had loads of stuff to do and couldn't write as much as I wanted. This chapter might be a bit boring, but it's only the beginning. :) Comments would be welcomed ;P (And tell me if I did any grammar mistake!)

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Lydia was finishing her cigarette in front of the restaurant when she heard the loud roar of a motorcycle. The engine seemed to be going very fast and its sound reminded her of a guitar amp ready to explode. She had woken up at noon with a terrible headache and had eaten cold pizza for breakfast, after a night that now looked like a vague succession of colored lights, smoke, alcohol fumes, but above all, like rapture. The headache was now gone, disappeared with some multicolored pills, and she couldn't wait to start again.

Suddenly, she saw the lights of the motorcycle arriving at top speed at the end of the street. A few second later, it braked abruptly in front of her. And the guy from the night before got off his motorcycle, his long shaggy black hair hiding half of his face. She knew he would come. It was exactly nine p.m.

'Hell! How can you put that in your mouth? It stinks!' He said, pointing her cigarette.

She crushed it on the ground with her thick heel.

'And Mommy didn't tell you not to throw your rubbish in the street?' He added with a smirk.

She ruffled her hair with her gloved hand and said:

'You sound like my mum. And what's your name? I asked it like a million times yesterday and you never answered'

And she lingered on the word 'million' in order to get him to understand how serious it was. Really, this guy could be a real tosser. Nonetheless, his insolent looks were irresistible. Nonetheless. Lydia's mother had tackled her during her entire life with the use of link words. 'But' and 'and' were for losers, whereas 'nonetheless' and 'furthermore' showed earnestness, conviction and control. The conviction that things should be controlled to stay with no control on your own life.

'My name is Sirius. S-I-R-I-U-S. Have you got ash in your ears? I told you yesterday,' he said, still smirking.

'So, where are we going?' She said, having not even listened to the end of his sentence, overexcited.

'I didn't say I was bringing you anywhere. We have a ride and you leave.'

He had a poker face, but Lydia had guessed that she might have annoyed him. Her smile was now gone. She looked down at her feet and said:

'I'm sorry.'

'Now, come on,' Sirius said, as he pulled her sleeve and rolled his eyes. He mounted his motorcycle. She noticed that he was wearing shiny leather boots. She really liked boys who wore boots. Maybe that was the reason why she was punk. She was reckoning that actually it was not, when he said:

'What are you waiting for? April's fool?'

He pulled her sleeve towards him again and she joined him on the motorcycle.

No sooner had she reached Sirius, than she found herself holding tightly his waist and moving far beyond speed limit. Houses had turned into palaces and streetlamps into shooting stars. His hair was flapping in her face, more like a caress than a slap and cold wind was filling her lungs, more soothing than cigarette smoke. Better than whisky or beer, no hangover in prospect; she felt like the little girl she was before the week following her twelfth birthday, when she'd had her first cigarette with Natalie and Joan Grant in their backyard whilst their parents were discussing polo, stock exchange and plant watering.

'Where are we heading?' She yelled as loudly as she could to be heard in spite of the wind.

'No need to scream, I'm not deaf,' he said. He had not yelled; he hadn't even spoken up. It was as if all the wind had disappeared.

'I'm having the best time!' She said, with her usual voice. But she was almost unable to hear herself. Lydia wondered if he had even understood a word of what she had said.

'We should stop now, you might wet yourself. I don't want my motorcycle to smell like piss."

It was weird, because it was as if he did not care, as if he could have had it covered with concrete and wouldn't have minded a bit because he could clean it with superpowers. But Lydia hadn't consciously noticed that. In fact, she was too busy enjoying herself to worry about anything. She had just thought of it as a joke, but had been a bit scared, nonetheless, that he might be serious and tell her to get off the bike.

Finally, the ride was over. She couldn't exactly remember the end of it. And Sirius was gone. He had dropped her there and had left as quickly as he had appeared. It was as if her memory had been written off. Her back hurt and she felt immensely tired, so she decided to walk home to sleep. Actually, she remembered something. Before leaving, he had said:

'Tomorrow 9 p.m, same place."


End file.
